Comfort Food
by NeoVenus22
Summary: PRRPM. This decision actually should have been quite easy, Summer thought with consternation. Complete.


Disclaimer: No one mentioned belongs to me.

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This decision actually should have been quite easy, Summer thought with consternation. Inability to sleep led to late-night munchies, which led to her in the kitchen, the cool air of the refrigerator wafting over her bare legs, as she tried to decide between the guacamole in front of her and the ice cream she knew was in the freezer.

It used to be easy. She'd tell Andrews of her cravings, and he'd show up at her door within fifteen minutes, with a fruit platter or a slice of chocolate cake in hand. He always seemed to know what she wanted, even if she herself was plagued with indecision.

But Andrews wasn't alive anymore. And Summer was going to have to figure out what she wanted all for herself.

"Hey."

Summer jumped; her fingers slipped from the door handle of the fridge, and the door itself swung forward, whacking her in the knee.

"Ow. Dillon. You scared me."

"I can see that." His voice was flat and dry, same as always, but under closer inspection, he had the slightest bit of a smile lurking in his eyes. Unless that was just the kitchen lights. "Getting a snack?"

"Couldn't sleep," she admitted.

"You know how Dr. K feels about leaving the fridge open."

"We're not cooling the whole dome, I know," she said, rolling her eyes. She gave him a look askance. "What are you doing up?"

Dillon shrugged. "Same as you. Couldn't sleep."

"Still having bad dreams?"

"When I have them at all," he said flatly. With his height, he could stretch his arm over her neatly. His elbow scraped her shoulder, freezing her for a second. Dillon dipped his finger into the guacamole, retracted it, licked it clean. Under normal circumstances, Summer would have recoiled; she could think of nothing more uncouth. But her ire got lost somewhere in the progression of his hand to his mouth.

Dillon withdrew his finger with a wet pop. "Good guacamole."

"Other people are going to eat that, you know," she chastised, getting her voice back.

"I don't have germs. Not human, remember?"

Summer felt her face pursing with frustration. "You're plenty human, Dillon."

"If you say so."

Confident for the first time since he walked in the room, Summer stared him down. "I haven't seen any evidence to the contrary."

"I was reprogrammed to kill you all? Any of that ringing a bell?"

"That could have happened to any of us," she argued. "Venjix and Tenaya 7 exposed a weakness. Just because your weakness is different doesn't make you less human."

She wondered if Dillon was always angry or bored, or if his fierce and impassive facial expression was just a defense mechanism. In either case, he seemed disinterested in any thing she had to say. "Dr. K might disagree."

"Dr. K would also disagree with your refusal to use a spoon," she pointed out. "And since when do you care?"

There was a pregnant pause. "I'm going to bed."

"Dillon," she said, as he strode towards the doorway. He hovered but didn't turn. "Did I say something wrong?" It felt like she was constantly attempting to keep the peace amongst her alpha male teammates, and she hated to have it go too far and turn on her. She hated him to leave angry at her.

"No."

"Then can you tell me what's wrong?"

He didn't answer at first, and she thought she'd lost him, but at last he said, "No."

And then he was gone.

Summer stared at the empty space with a sigh hovering in her throat, then, prompted by something else entirely, marched back to the fridge, flung open the door, and jammed her finger into the bowl. She had just licked the last of it from her fingers when Scott said, "Other people are going to eat that, you know."

Summer jerked in surprise. "Maybe I should equip you guys with bells."

"What?"

"Never mind. I was thinking about having some ice cream, anyway," she said, shutting the fridge door and rooting in the freezer for the solitary pint container that was hers amidst Dr. K's mish-mash of flavors.

"Funny, that was what I came down here for."

"Got the munchies?" she asked, aware of his eyes on her back as she finally unearthed her rocky road. She was also aware of the tingle his gaze left on her spine.

"Sometimes I'm too exhausted to sleep, if that makes any sense," he said.

Summer straightened and turned; Scott was holding a spoon in her direction. "Thanks," she said.

"You don't have to use it, you know," he said with mock seriousness. "I just wanted you to be aware of its existence."

Summer did what she felt was the most necessary and useful reaction, which was to stick her tongue out at him. She pulled the lid from her snack. "Aw, c'mon, Ziggy!" How had she not realized it was lighter than it should have been?

"Could've been Dillon," said Scott with a shrug. Which was entirely possible, as evidenced by the wanton food-eating habits she'd witnessed just minutes ago. Still, she disliked both that she dismissed Dillon out of hand, as well as that he was the first suspect on Scott's list. She knew he didn't mean anything by it, that it wasn't a way of playing himself up while taking Dillon down. She had a feeling this was all in her head.

"You want some of mine?" he asked, his voice penetrating her deep cavern of thought.

"I didn't know you had any," she recovered. "You don't seem to have much of a sweet tooth."

"Dad usually had us on a strict diet," he said. "You'd think that would make me a closet candy eater, but actually, I usually stay away from it. Still like ice cream, though," he said with a grin that could only be described as heart-stopping. To the point where Summer found she had to redirect her gaze elsewhere.

"Well, everyone likes ice cream," she said what she hoped was dismissively, hoping she wasn't blushing and giving herself away.

"So you want some of mine, then?"

"Next time, maybe," she said with a small smile.

"Your loss," said Scott, ducking around her to pull a container out of the freezer. By the time the door shut, he had effortlessly launched himself up to sit on the counter-top, and was digging his spoon deep. Summer didn't even recall him having one. She opted for the slightly more mature and dignified option of leaning against the counter, although she felt his body nudging hers every time he shifted. She considered moving, but didn't. they fell into a companionable silence, accompanied by the soft sounds of eating and spoons scraping against cardboard. The whole routine was oddly soothing.

Summer was just swallowing the last nut (Ziggy, or Dillon, or whomever had eaten her ice cream, had managed to use impressive intuition to scoop out every marshmallow bit) when Scott jumped off the counter. He seemed to be made of boundless energy that night, bouncing from one part of the kitchen to another. She hoped it would tire him out enough that he could actually get some sleep. "That did the trick," he said with some satisfaction, capping his carton and sticking it back in the freezer.

"Think you can sleep now?" she asked.

"Sleep, sugar coma, same difference," he answered.

Summer found she wasn't reassured. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Scott grinned at her. "Has anyone ever told you you worry too much?"

"Only about myself," she said, before she could stop herself. It was a little too much, and a little close to the truth of what she used to be like. She didn't want to think about it. Instead, she brushed her comment aside with another: "I'm just looking out for my team."

"I'm not complaining. It's nice to have someone worry about you."

She wished other people felt that way. "Hmm. Well. Anytime."

"And what about you?"

Summer blinked. "What about me?"

"Are you okay? When I came into the kitchen, you were looking kinda out of it. And eating guacamole straight from the bowl isn't exactly your usual M.O., so maybe I'm a little concerned."

"I'm fine," she said. "Really. Just... thinking about things."

"Anything world-ending?"

"Not hardly." She touched his shoulder. "Go to bed, Scott. You already spend all of your daytime hours taking care of us."

Scott scrutinized her for a moment longer, probably trying to figure out if she was hiding something or not. "All right. Night, Summer."

Scott left the kitchen and presumably headed back upstairs to bed, whether to sleep or not, she couldn't guess. Summer stayed where she was, however, close to the fridge, although there was nothing in there that would help her. Her first snack had not been particularly fulfilling. And he comfort food had not been especially comforting. Ultimately, and unfortunately, Summer found she was still hungry.


End file.
